


know me crazy, soothe me daily,

by SafelyCapricious



Series: ain't no grave can hold my body down [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Dreams, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Veela Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: “You can’t just hide forever,” Ginny says. Or really, what she says is “Ya’caaaaan’t jus’ hi f’evr”, but Hermione is just as sloshed as she is and can translate to what she means.“Sure she can,” Pansy -- after about the twelfth shot she’s decided Parkinson is too long, even in her own mind, and she’s switched to the more manageable first name -- says. Or well, she slurs it as well, but the meaning is clear. “Draco’s a dick.”[[Please read first in dreams and divination don't predict the future series before reading this]]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: ain't no grave can hold my body down [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950148
Comments: 20
Kudos: 184





	know me crazy, soothe me daily,

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's Jackie and Wilson, because that's where the title of the first part of this series came from.
> 
> THAT'S RIGHT THIS IS PART TWO OF A FIC I WROTE LAST FICTOBER BEECHES LETS GET THIS
> 
> Uh, definitely read the first in the dreams and divination don't predict the future series before starting this, or you're going to be confused. 
> 
> Fictober continues, this is day 11 and for "creature". 
> 
> Reminder to support the trans community and that JKR is the worst.

“You can’t just hide forever,” Ginny says. Or really, what she says is “Ya’caaaaan’t jus’ hi f’evr”, but Hermione is just as sloshed as she is and can translate to what she means.

“Sure she can,” Pansy -- after about the twelfth shot she’s decided Parkinson is too long, even in her own mind, and she’s switched to the more manageable first name -- says. Or well, she slurs it as well, but the meaning is clear. “Draco’s a dick.”

This prompts a hiccuping laugh from Hermione herself -- even as her brain paints a picture of the dick in question. She is getting better at ignoring those pictures -- but they’re coming in more frequency. They might’ve been the reason she decided to turn to drink tonight, but honestly she cannot remember at this point.

“I thought you were close?” Luna asks, a wobbling bubble escaping her lips on a hiccup. She hasn’t much liked the muggle alcohol they’d turned to once the beer was gone, and Hermione handed her the overly sweet gigglewater that had been hiding in her fridge since she’d moved into the flat. “Why’re you being so mean?”

“He’s a right ass,” Pansy says, gesturing grandly with a glass of...something. Hermione idly wonders how good magic is at getting stains out of carpet as the liquid sloshes over Pansy’s hand. “With a great ass.”

“Better than being a great ass with a right ass,” Ginny says, and then dissolves completely into unmanageable giggles. Luna starts laughing as well, and Hermione isn’t sure if it’s Ginny losing it or the rainbow bubbles that are coming with Luna’s laughter that sends her over the edge with them but breathing is hard around the laughter and gravity wins the fight and she finds herself curled on her side on the carpet crying with tears.

“Ugh,” Pansy says, and lurches to her feet without falling -- which is impressive. “Gryffindors.”

“Don’t -- Don’t leave,” Hermione manages to gasp out around her amusement, even as she latches onto one of Pansy’s legs, which upsets her stance, and she tumbles down, and a knee hits Hermione’s stomach hard enough to stop her laughing.

Pansy is groaning, half laying on her, and mumbling something about her head while Hermione tries to remember any of the healing spells she should know. She fails, but the alcohol in her system soon makes the pain seem inconsequential. Which is good, since the younger girls see the pile of Pansy and Hermione more as an invitation than anything else, and soon there’s a cuddle of very drunk witches on the carpet.

***

“Fuck, right there, just like that,” she writhes on silk sheets, not sure if she wants to get closer or further away from the tongue that’s tormenting her, and then strong hands are gripping her hips and holding her down so she doesn’t have a choice but just to take it.

“Please, please, please,” she chants, hands releasing the bedding to try to tangle in his smooth hair even as her back bows and she falls to pieces.

“You taste so good,” he says, just as she’s waking up, and she knows the image of him smirking at her from between her legs, face wet with her, will haunt her for the rest of the day.

***

Sober-up potion tastes like licking the floor of the local after a football victory. Or, at least, what Hermione imagines such an action would taste like, having never done so herself.

Naturally, she never remembers before she takes it, and it’s always such an unpleasant surprise, that as sobriety rushes through her system she gets to experience an entire day of regret in just a few moments. Condensing it down doesn’t seem to make it any better.

Not that she really _regrets_ drinking with her girlfriends -- and it’s still a bit of an adjustment to remind herself that she _has_ girlfriends now. She’s had them for a while, despite the fact that it took her entire world being turned on its head for her to really realize.

Because as much as she knows that neither Harry or Ron are affected by her, like this -- and she’s not going to even try to figure out _when_ Harry had any attraction for her, because she has a guess and it’s going to piss her off if she’s right -- she certainly doesn’t want to get drunk with them and discuss the physical attributes of, well, a lot of different people.

(And she definitely doesn’t want to theorize with them about how different people probably behave in the sack -- not that she particularly wanted to have that discussion in the first place, but it was at least _tolerable_ with the girls. Even if her mind kept drifting obnoxiously towards pale hair and grey eyes and a sharp smirk the entire time.)

And she at least remembers the entirety of the night -- even the parts she wishes she didn’t -- which is more than she can say for all of the others. Assuming, at least, that Pansy -- it seemed weird to go back to Parkinson, now that she’d switched over, but she hadn’t said it out loud yet and that might stop her-- hadn’t been exaggerating with her owl’d question that morning.

But now, regrets, drinking and a very sad breakfast tackled -- Hermione decides she’s moped enough about her situation and turns to her first true love.

Books.

She’s had to take a leave from the Ministry, for the time being, which is fine since she’s accrued a ludicrous amount of both vacation and sick time -- having not bothered to utilize it prior to this. (She thought it rather interesting that, unlike the muggle world, there are no limits on how much vacation or sick time she can accrue or use all at once. It seems unlikely that it is due to others having to take potentially months off to account for discovering non-human heritage that might cause others to mob them at work, but perhaps it is more common than she knows.)

***

“That’s right love, you’re so pretty when you come,” he purrs, and she knows it’s a dream, but that doesn’t make his fingers feel any less real as she clenches around them and chokes on a sob.

And she’s starting to want it to be real and not just dreams and — and she doesn’t know what to do with that.

***

Her books let her down.

Which, it’s not the first time, but it’s fairly disappointing every time.

Which means she does have to turn to one of her aces in the hole, as it were.

Fleur is nice enough to meet her at her house, and Hermione doesn’t even think to be worried that maybe she’ll be affected until the other woman is through the door and blinking at her.

“Well,” she says, and then collapses gracefully into a chair, “I can see why you called me. May I have some water?”

Hermione nods and pours some for the both of them and takes the other chair. “I had some questions, and I was hoping you could help?”

“I will try,” Fleur responds, and smiles wide and warm across the table.

After fifteen minutes of polite chit chat regarding her new heritage, Hermione has to ask, “Are you not affected because you also have Veela blood?”

Fleur’s laugh makes Hermione think of her blond hair spread across her pillow and shorter blond hair behind her and -- she clasps her glass and tries to drink so she doesn’t moan. “Oh, I am very much wishing to take your month, Hermione, but I do have a mate of my own and some practice resisting. Anyone with enough will power _can_ resist, but most will not know that they need to. Or will not know how to.”

“And...you said mate, I’m assuming Bill is yours?” Fleur smiles brightly -- in a way that doesn’t make Hermione want to take her knickers off, which is a relief.

“I did not come into my inheritance until I already had him, so it was easier for me -- for us. This is not a matter of soulmates, Hermione, but more body chemistry and preference.”

She rolls that thought around in her head for a few long moments before asking. “Does that mean -- I mean -- who I’m dreaming of. _If_ it was someone unsuitable -- someone married -- I don’t have to -- live in isolation or ruin his marriage? I could...change my mind?”

Now Fleur looks concerned and Hermione has to wonder if she should come clean -- but too many people already know and she likes Fleur, she does, but she’s not sure she can share this with her. “Oh my dear, yes. It can shift to someone else. But...to shift you might need to kiss. Just once, is normal! To convince yourself that it will never suit.”

She thinks that if he was married, then she’d be able to move on from it. Cheating is abhorrent to her.

Of course, he’s not.

And she’s terrified of kissing him.

Because she’s fairly sure if she kisses him once she won’t be able to stop.

“But won’t he be affected as well? He’s never -- he’s never liked me, like that, so he’ll be hit with the full force of it and won’t be able to say no. I don’t want -- are you telling me to assault someone?” She has to clasp her hands together so that she doesn’t start shredding something, anything, in her anxiety.

Fleur takes her hand, which should make the heat come back but somehow just calms her down and she forces herself to take another breath, and then she shakes her head. “If he is affected, he is not the one.”

Hermione blinks and considers. “Is it...it’s just someone who isn’t affected, that’s who the one is?”

“Non,” is the rather stern reply she’s given. “Many people may not be affected, if they do not care for witches, or for sex, or if they have already learned how to push down attraction to you, yes? You have seen this in your friends already I think.” She taps her lips. “I did not have this, because I already had my Bill when I started to feel the heat -- but I was told by my gra-mere is that the one who your Veela side has chosen, will not be affected and with your contact with them, others will suddenly not be affected. It is meant to find a good, protective mate, you see? So when the others rush to you, they will put an arm around you and protect you and you will be safe.”

Hermione wonders if ten in the morning is too early to open some alcohol, she’s starting to think she wants a drink.

Oh Merlin, finding out she’s a Veela is turning her into an alcoholic.

But maybe, just maybe, she’ll come up with some idea of what to do if she has a drink, or two. It’s worth a shot.

***

“Perfect, just like that,” he punctuates his words with a thrust that pulls sounds from her mouth she’s never made before, even as his arm curls more securely around her and holds her back to his chest. Which is just as well because she wants closer and to always be closer.

“Fuck, I love you,” she says — and her own horror wakes her up before she can come.

***

Hermione is starting to think that this is a _Bad_ _Idea_.

Pansy has _promised_ her that Malfoy will be passing this way shortly, but since she’s been isolating inside she hasn’t realized just how her ‘symptoms’ have been progressing. And the answer is bad news for her.

She’s only just apparated in and half the people passing by have just stopped and are staring at her and oh god she’s going to get _mauled_.

It is starting to look increasingly likely that she’ll have to flee before he shows up, when he does show up, looking unfairly attractive in open robes with the top few buttons undone on his shirt and — which, well, it hasn’t exactly solved the problem but now she feels like her feet are stuck to the ground and --

“Granger?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at her and stopping several paces away.

“Malfoy,” she returns, throat dry, as she glances around at the others who are starting to edge closer, while staring at her. Yeah, even with him here she might have too -- “Shit,” she jerks away from a hand that has reached for her and then, somehow, Malfoy is there and very carefully _not_ touching her but he’s standing between her and that person and --

She yelps and jumps away from a hand that succeeded in finding her bum and then he actually wraps a hand around her arm and scowls around them. “What the fuck is going on Granger?”

And her mouth is even more dry because as soon as his hand made contact with her arm, even through her blouse, the person she was looking at had blinked, and stared at her, and shook their head...and walked away.

Holy shit.

Malfoy _is_ her mate.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, thanks for the assist, gotta go, bye,” and she tries to step away from him but he doesn’t let go, in fact he pulls her closer and oh _no_. Now is not the time libido.

“I think you owe me an explanation, Granger,” he says, and his voice is exactly how it is in her dreams and she finds herself distracted by the physical responses is elicits that she almost misses the end of the sentence, “about why you’re in _my_ dreams.”

She stares at him in aroused horror as he arches an amused eyebrow at her, silver eyes warmer than she thinks they should be.

And for once, in her life, Hermione Granger doesn’t have a voice for the answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay okay, so I kinda ended this evilly? But shit son, I had to get something up.
> 
> I am actively working on a Draco POV piece as well, which might end up attached to a longer Hermione piece and, well, we'll see! 
> 
> Questions, concerns, just wanna talk? Find me [on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/capriciouswrites), and let me love you.
> 
> Anyways, fictober ~~sucks~~ rules so this is all you get for now!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


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